Chapter 2

The Duke Loves Me

‘Lord Dalbright, is your oldest daughter afflicted this evening, for I do not see her in our company? Apathy, was it, her name? I always thought you had chosen such a peculiar name for her.’

The relief that the Baron and Baroness had felt after the Duchess stopped Daphne lasted only a fraction of a second for this question had them flustered again.

‘I did not think you would remember her, your grace’, chuckled the Baron after an awkward pause, without bothering to correct her.

The rumors of the late Baroness’s infidelity had not been unheard of by the Duke and Duchess but the Duchess had spent a good amount of time with the late Baroness when she had first married the Duke. In fact, it was the late Baroness who had subtly guided the Duchess into growing into the formidable, elegant noble that she was now. It was a different matter that time and duty to their own families had caused the two women to grow apart until one of them died, but the Duchess still held the late Baroness in high regard, say what rumors may.

‘Of course, Lord Dalbright. Why, she was a most dear friend when we lived in Dalbright and we spent many pleasant evenings choosing dresses and ribbons at the modiste. It is a shame she died so young. I hope to see that the daughter of my late friend has grown into the same sort of brilliant young lady that my friend was. ’

But Lady Dalbright had years of experience spinning webs of lies and she put it to good use this time. It helped that the Duke and Duchess had only arrived a short half an hour ago.

‘Your grace, of course, she has. She was feeling rather blue this morning and is on the way from the doctor’s infirmary. I shall check whether she is back right away,’ and with that, the Baroness flounced out of the drawing room and into the scullery where Apate had been chatting with the other maids.

Apate screamed because the Baroness Dalbright had grabbed a fistful of her hair upon entry into the scullery but the look of burning anger on her face soon silenced Apate.

‘ You wretched girl! You are the root of all our problems!’, with that, Baroness Dalbright dragged Apate by her hair upstairs and along with her personal maids, began ripping the apron and bodice off of Apate.

‘No! Not that blue dress, that is not for this girl’s dirty skin! This old one, yes, this old pink dress shall do!’

The Baronesses’ maid, Leticia, shot a look of sympathy towards Apate’s forlorn face before she helped Apate out of her shift and corset and into the pink dress as the Baroness watched on in distaste. Leticia and Apate had spent more than a few evenings chatting over stale potato mashes and onion stews; she even saw Leticia mouthing a small, pained ‘Sorry’ when helping her into the tight sleeves of the dress. When they were done, Apate was noticeably dwarfed by the large, puffed-up sleeves and the wide skirt. The satin material had lost its former shine which accentuated the gauntness of Apate’s face, how her eyes and cheeks had sunken in, and her face had lost its color to be gradually replaced by yellow pallor. She looked as if in costume and that greatly pleased the Baroness.

‘For someone who has a whore’s blood in you, you look the part too,’ Baroness Dalbright sneered with great pleasure as she dragged Apate into the Drawing room. Everything had happened so fast that Apate had not had time to compose her feelings about what was happening.

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As she was thrust into the harsh limelight of the Drawing room, she felt herself almost stumbling, each breath becoming more laborious than the previous by the second for everyone in the room had stood up and their expressions ranged from disgust to abject horror.

Apate had the sense to curtsy at the Duke and Duchess of Beachton who were shaken out of their shocked silence. Upon Apate’s curtsy, the Duchess smiled at her and pointed her towards the chaise facing the Duchess so that she sits while the Duke had a peculiar look of curiosity on his face.

Apate trudged towards the chaise and sat down, much to the displeasure of the Dalbright family.

‘How have you been, dear? You look rather pale now’, inquired the Duchess softly.

Apate managed to smile slowly; it had been a long long time before someone of note had asked her that question. But perhaps her smile resembled more of a grimace for the Duchess’s smile dropped and the Baroness swooped in to steer the conversation to another matter.

‘She has been well, Your grace. The girl never listens to me and oft skips meals because she is so involved in books. Your grace. Haha. Unlike my lovely Daphne, who keeps herself engaged with pianoforte, painting, and strolling to keep her lovely figure. Ahaha…say, Your Grace, word on the street is that the Marquis is on the marriage mart. ’

The Duchess’s mouth pursed in displeasure at the interruption and the Duke had still not lost that peculiar look on his face.

‘Gossip is for small minds, Lady Dalbright, and I do not believe in indulging in gossip’, and with that, the Duchess put a full stop to that matter despite the Baroness looking forward to furthering the prospects of Daphne as a potential bride for the Marquis.

The next following hour and a half had followed the same pattern: the Duchess would pose a question to Apate who would be poised to answer but the Baron, Baroness, Daphne, or Damian would step in and answer. The Duke could feel his wife’s mood souring and soon, what was supposed to be a dinner event ended after lunch when three hours had passed since the Duke and Duchess had arrived, albeit the Marquis, despite the event being in his honor, had not yet arrived.

When Baron Dalbright and the Duke retired to the Baron’s personal salon for a much-needed smoke, the Duke finally opened up about what was on his mind following a long intake of his cheroot.

‘Dalbright, send your oldest chit to my estate on Tuesday that is coming first thing in the morning.’

Baron Dalbright was puzzled until a sinister idea began forming in his head. He already hated the girl and didn’t want to spend a penny on her dowry but the Duke taking her as a mistress would not only thoroughly ruin her and absolve the Baron of any duty to marry her off but also validate his feelings about her mirroring the debauchery of her mother’s supposed infidelity.

He smirked. ‘ Didn’t know she was to your taste but she will be off my hands, that wretched girl, and it’s high time you took a girl for yourself.’

The Duke’s face darkened at the Baron’s suggestion-his wife and he had achieved a love match which was uncommon in Beachton and the thought of infidelity disgusted him.

‘It seems that you have forgotten the bounds of decorum. I will let this go for we have history but I shall not let such insolence slide the next time.’

It seemed that neither the Duchess nor the Duke had a good time at the Dalbright estate and when the carriage carrying Theodore Carlisle, Marquis of Dalhurst arrived and Theodore promptly informed the Dalbright family in the Drawing room that he couldn’t stay the evening, his parents had been relieved and jumped on the chance to leave the place.

‘Lord Carlisle, Marquis of Dalhurst,’ announced the Dalbright butler and Theodore entered. There was an audible gasp from the room from whoever had not been a parent of the Marquis. Theodore Carlisle’s handsomeness was the stuff of lore and everyone in Dalbright had heard of it but seeing his countenance in person was a different experience altogether.

His jet-black hair shone under the light of the chandelier of the Drawing room. With a face that seemed to be specially sculpted by the Gods, his sleek, angular jaw could cut, and his deep blue eyes had the depth of an ocean and his sharp. It seemed that both Lady Dalbright and Daphne had adjusted their necklines downwards to draw attention to themselves, Damian began squirming for his own looks, or lack thereof, were a stark contrast to the man who had just arrived, and the Baron had a similar reaction.

Apate had fallen in love.